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Heart Beat

By Lynne Waite Chapman

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I hustled from my car to The Rare Curl, thinking I’d kill for another cup of coffee. My teeth were chattering. Goosebumps up my arms—in May. My sweater wasn’t doing the job. Should’ve grabbed a jacket, maybe gloves. My coworkers, Rarity and Stacy, would have had a good laugh if I’d shown up with gloves. They told me living in Florida had given me thin blood, if there was such a thing. Back in Evelynton a year, and still not accustomed to the northern Indiana climate.
I reached for the salon door just in time for it to slam against my knuckles. Ouch. I rubbed my hand against my sweater. A bruised hand is small sacrifice to keep from getting smacked in the face by the heavy door.
Patricia Martin, local dress shop owner, stomped out. Our eyes met for a moment through the glass. Without a word, she went on her way.
So, I guess no apology.
And I’d thought she was finally beginning to like me. She’d been one of those who labeled me the poor widowed Lauren Grace James, come home for the sake of the pitiful inheritance of an old house and an old car. The woman who’d failed at life, with no place to go. Perceptions were slow to change in a small town, but people were getting to know me. Most had upgraded my identity to Lauren Halloren, magazine writer and part-time receptionist.
Patricia stood at her Mercedes and fumbled with her key fob until the lock popped. She climbed in, revved the engine, and backed into the roadway without looking. Oncoming traffic obliged her by making space.
Some people led charmed lives.
Shaking my sore hand, I reached once more for the door handle. The reception room and service area appeared empty, but I caught a glimpse of Rarity, my boss, as she disappeared into the supply room.
Wonder what was with Patricia? It wasn’t like Rarity to anger a customer, or anyone, ever. Maybe Patricia expected a last-minute appointment and Rarity couldn’t accommodate her. Still, irate customers were rare at The Rare Curl. I grinned at my little word play.
After stashing my handbag in the bottom drawer of my desk, I scanned the appointment book. Patricia did have an appointment, first on the list. She should’ve been sitting in Rarity’s styling chair, coffee in hand, not motoring through town, endangering Evelynton citizens.
The rusty hinge on the supply room door squawked, followed by the tap of Rarity’s sensible heels closing in behind me. In the year since she hired me, I’ve learned to recognize her gait. The woman had a way of crossing the room, not really at a run, but hard to describe as a walk.
“I’ve lost my mind. Don’t know what’s happened. It’s all gone.” Rarity sputtered over my shoulder.
“What?” I swiveled my chair to peer into her eyes. “You’re not joking.”
The attractive laugh lines that bracketed her green eyes had morphed into stress creases. Perspiration dotted her forehead. Heat radiated from her body.
“What’s going on? Are you okay? Is Stacy alright?”
“I’m fine. Um, we’re fine. It’s the supplies. My hair color is gone.” Rarity pulled in a deep breath and blew it out between her lips. “Did you see Patricia leave?”
“I sure did. Almost lost my hand in the process.” I massaged my throbbing knuckles.
“She was so upset. Poor thing was supposed to get her hair tinted this morning. She drove all the way in here, and I had to tell her I couldn’t do it.”
Poor thing? Patricia? I bet she’d never been disappointed before. Wouldn’t hurt to hear no for once. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’ll understand it was an accident.”
Rarity pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “We’ll have to call her, but wait a while, ‘til she cools off. Oh dear, would you call Rhonda, my next appointment, and tell her I can’t color her hair today? I hope she isn’t already on her way.”
“Absolutely. Right away. When should I rebook her appointment?”
“First available, tomorrow. Er… call all my color appointments. Work them in over the next few days, wherever you find a spot. I’ll start early and stay late, whatever works.”
“Don’t worry. Your ladies aren’t about to get mad at you for one little problem. I’ve never seen you mess up in all the time I’ve worked here.”
Rarity worried the tissue into shreds. “Oh Lauren, it’s the second time this week. I don’t know what’s going on. There were only a couple of bottles on the shelves this morning. And I just restocked on Saturday. At least I think I did.” She placed a palm on her forehead for a moment before continuing.
“That morning—Saturday—we were short on supplies, we shouldn’t have been, but I ran to the supply house to restock. Funny thing is, I was sure I brought back plenty to last us. I didn’t think I needed to check the inventory again last night. I should have. I went in to mix Patricia’s formula, and we’re out. It was all gone.”
“Don’t worry. There’s a good explanation. You must have been busier than you realized yesterday. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” This conversation was stretching my abilities. I’m not usually the one who had to encourage my older and wiser employer.
“I don’t know. Didn’t think so, but…” She stuffed the scraps of tissue into her pocket.
“All this extra work is asking a lot. As soon as I’m sure things are under control here, I’ll drive to the supply house.”
I picked up the handset and dialed. “I’m on it, Rarity. Oh, what about Stacy? Is she okay with her customers?”
“I have her checking her appointments against the stock right now. Move all my haircut and shampoo-set appointments together for later today. It’ll take me a couple hours to get to the city and back. This time I’ll be sure to pick up enough to cover us until the regular shipment comes in.”
The red splotches in her cheeks began to fade to her natural peach blush, although her voice still held a noticeable tremor.
“Hello Rhonda. It’s Lauren at The Rare Curl.”
I glanced up to see Rarity standing with her hands covering her face. “Sorry Rhonda, hold on a minute.”
I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and tried to speak to Rarity in a soft, reassuring voice. “It’s going to be okay. As soon as I talk to Rhonda, I’ll get everyone else moved.”
She pulled her hands away. “Yes, I know it will be okay.”
Rarity raised her eyes to the ceiling and counted on her fingers. “An hour to get there, half hour at the store, an hour back. Book my appointments beginning at one o’clock—no two. I can get them done and still go to Bible study tonight.” She took a deep breath and grinned.
The supply room door squawked open and slammed against the wall. “Lauren!” Stacy approached at a run. “Give me the phone. I gotta call my first two women. There’s no hair color for them.” She froze, eyes glazed and mouth open. “Wait, do we have any perms? Mrs. Brubaker is coming in for a permanent wave this afternoon.” She spun on her heel and loped back to the supply room.
Rarity stared after Stacy, and I rushed to explain the situation to Rhonda, still waiting on the line.
A minute later, the door to the backroom banged against the wall again.
Out of breath from the trek to and from the supply room, Stacy puffed. “Nope, no perms. I’ll have to call everybody.”
She glared at her employer. “Rarity, what happened? We’re completely out of stock. How could you let us get this low? Seriously, I don’t know where your mind’s been this month.”
Rarity shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Stacy. Can’t imagine what happened. I was sure we had enough to last us. Call your ladies. Tell them it’s my fault and I’ll have everything fixed by tomorrow. I’ll even give them a discount for the inconvenience. I’m driving to the supply house right away.” She pulled her handbag over her shoulder and waved on her way out.
Still trying to explain the situation to Rhonda, I felt white heat from Stacy’s eyes burrowing into my back—right between the shoulder blades. The incessant tapping of her foot distracted me so much I could barely hear the woman on the phone.
I spun around to face Stacy, gave a shrug, and held the receiver tighter, lest she grab it away.
She pivoted and stomped to her styling station, muttering all the way. Something about the discount likely coming out of her pay.
Reaching her styling station, she plopped into her chair and shouted across the room. “I’ll use my cell phone. Rarity refuses to hire anyone new. I’m already doing double duty with all Patsy’s customers, and now this. What a screw-up.”
I cupped my hand around the mouthpiece. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what that ruckus is. Something from the street.”
Two hours later, I’d finished my calls and pried the phone from my ear. No conversation with the women of Evelynton was ever short, but there were no complaints. Even Patricia had gotten over the indignity of it all, and calmed by the time I spoke to her.
Stacy finished her calls though their reaction was a mystery. Customers tend to mirror the attitude of the stylist, and that wasn’t such a good thing today.
But tragedy averted, serenity returned to The Rare Curl. The remainder of my four-hour shift proceeded peacefully.
~
Rarity, experienced hairdresser and business owner, had always been rock steady. I guess that’s why the Tuesday morning chaos fled my mind as soon as I returned home to the cozy Cape Cod I’d inherited from my Aunt Ruth.
Stepping over the threshold, I barely had time to deposit my bag before Mason flew into my arms. What would I do without his welcome—his warm body next to mine? I’d thought myself a loner, but there had been no resisting once this guy had decided to move in with me.
Mason snuggled close and nuzzled my chin. I giggled as he rubbed his fuzzy face across my cheek.
Mason’s my cat, the golden-eyed, black and white feline who’d adopted me almost as soon as I arrived in Evelynton.
“Enough, Mason. Get down and I’ll check your food bowl. You’ll have to leave me alone this afternoon and tomorrow. I have to finish that magazine article on time. We’ll need the income if we’re both going to eat this month.”
Mason pounced to the floor and tailed me to the kitchen where I filled his bowl. I left him to choose bits of kibble. While I changed clothes, thoughts ran through my mind of the day’s events. Was someone stealing from The Rare Curl? Or was Rarity losing her mind?

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